Breathe
by Annie2
Summary: Buffy takes a dangerous nap.
1. Default Chapter

Breathe  
  
By Annie  
  
Rated: R, to be on the safe side. Summary: Buffy needs some rest. Spoilers: General Season 7, mostly Never Leave Me. Disclaimer: Still not mine; if they were, that basement scene would have been longer. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
  
  
Breathe  
  
  
  
The house was a wreck, which seemed to be a chronic situation lately. Buffy looked around resignedly, as her brain tried to fathom a place for them to have taken Spike. The Hellmouth would be the most obvious place, and she was far from eager to venture back into the basement of the high school. She had to. They all had to. Whatever they needed Spike for would have to be stopped. Disturbing memories of Dawn as the Key, opening all the dimensions, plagued her as she tried to gather her thoughts and formulate a viable plan of attack.  
  
She needed Giles.  
  
She needed Spike.  
  
She was tired. And thank the goddesses she knew a carpenter who would repair her house for cost.  
  
"Okay," she began. "We need some kind of plan. While we try to come up with one, gather all the weapons we have in the house. Anya, look in on Andrew and see if he's okay. He'll be coming along with us. Don't give him any options."  
  
She turned and headed to her room without another word, intending to find all the special weapons she kept hidden there. They would need everything. They would need everyone. She closed the door to her room and leaned against it heavily. She felt like she was on the verge of a panic attack, and almost laughed. Where the hell was Giles, anyway, and was he still alive and safe? She didn't expect Travers to actually ever call her back. She so wanted to punch his lights out.  
  
She crossed the room and lay across the bed, reaching down to the floor on the opposite side, arm groping for the crossbow she knew was there. She stopped a second, breathing deeply, conquering the fear inside as she always did. Fear for Spike, for Giles, for her friends, especially for Dawn. She didn't even want to think about harm to Dawn, and the thought that the First Evil would use Spike as a sacrificial offering was too much to contemplate.  
  
"Buffy," Willow asked tentatively from the doorway.  
  
Got it. Reaching for something else now. "What?" she asked distractedly, thinking Will should be downstairs gathering weapons as well.  
  
"Xander has a bunch more weapons at his place. He went to get them. He'll be back in a jiff. Anya and Dawn are with Andrew. She's fine."  
  
Buffy didn't ask which 'she' Willow was referring to; they all knew she was always needing to know if Dawn was safe.  
  
"Has anyone come up with a plan?" Buffy asked, righting herself, and pulling a few choice sharp objects out from under the bed as she did so.  
  
"Not yet. We will. Why don't you close your eyes for a few minutes till Xander gets back. Get yourself ready."  
  
Buffy shook her head tiredly. "I can't. We have to get him away from them before it's too late."  
  
"You can't save everyone, Buffy." Willow said softly. "But no matter what, we're all with you in this. Even Xander, inexplicably." The witch smiled slightly at that.  
  
"It's my job to save everyone." Buffy told her seriously.  
  
Willow pushed her gently against the pillows. "Well, then, in the meantime, for the ten minutes it will take Xander to get back here, you need to conserve your energy and refuel the battery. Cleanse your mind, come up with a plan."  
  
Buffy closed her eyes, briefly.  
  
  
  
She was really having a panic attack, she had to be, because the fear inside her, deep down inside where no one was allowed to be, that fear was choking her. She'd left. She'd run from the basement and headed upstairs to Dawn, when all along she should have already figured out it was Spike they wanted. Why else would he have been residing in the school basement, all but on top of the Hellmouth? Why else would they have taken control of him, made him do the horrendous things he so recently despised himself for? She was The Slayer. She should have known, should have figured it out long ago. And now, now they could be doing anything to him, using him to awaken anything, destroying him in the process.her breath hitched hurtfully in her sleep, little blackness in her head, telling her she couldn't breathe. No one else there to hear, Willow had already gone to check on the other girls and Andrew, satisfied that the ten-minute nap she would get would be enough to clear Buffy's mind, point to a plan. Willow knew, even if the others didn't, how much Spike meant to Buffy lately. Even Xander wasn't as anxious to stake him as he had always been. She sighed, it was kind of like getting used to a pet one hadn't wanted at first.  
  
In her quiet room, Buffy's breathing was ragged and worried, the sleep fitful and painful. She froze suddenly, inhaled even more sharply as she felt the cool almost-touch ghost down her arm. Cool air near her ear, and a whispered word, "Breathe."  
  
But she was holding her breath in her sleep, and the chill touch came again, tracing her jawline this time. Still the whisper of air near her ear. "Easy. Just breathe."  
  
The cold velvet tracked along the artery in her throat, and she couldn't breathe at all, something stopping the necessary muscles from working. Can't breathe, she thought, somewhere in the back of her tired mind.  
  
"Yes, you can. Breathe," the cool air told her, caressing across the definition of her collarbone. No, you can't, the thing in her mind said, gripping tightly, and her chest hitched again, painfully, withholding the movement needed to draw in the oxygen.  
  
Brush of phantom movement down her chest, hardening nipples, urging her lungs to relax, stop their struggling, take in the warm air.  
  
"Breathe," softly, against the smooth skin between her breasts.  
  
Another painful grab of her lungs. You can't breathe, the black voice in her head insisted.  
  
Waft of cool air across her abdomen, contracting her muscles, warming inside. "Breathe, Buffy." And she almost knew, almost knew she was dreaming, almost knew she could breathe.  
  
No breath, pain radiating from her empty lungs, up into her throat, keeping her silent.  
  
Cool breeze like hands moving down her stomach and splayed open between her legs, cool shock of pleasure, familiar touch, familiar voice in her head. "You can breathe. Breathe for me." Pushing the blackness from inside her head.  
  
You can't breathe. Black voice, weaker now, fighting to stay with her, chased by the cool commands caressing her warm skin.  
  
"She can breathe." Icy satin covering her, moving against her weightlessly, crushingly. Can't breathe. Tiny blackness in her head, fading too slowly. Coolness still moving against her, making her heart beat faster, making her lungs reach out painfully for air. Cool-yet-warm not-lips, touching and not touching, breathing and not breathing into her, chill of soft air filling her shockingly.  
  
Can't breathe, stop breathing, tiny black glitter in her head, fading to nothing and she couldn't hear it anymore, could only feel the cool not- there weight against her body, pushing, urging, forcing her muscles to move and respond, demanding ache in her body, commanding voice in her ear. "Breathe. Breathe for me, Slayer. Come for me."  
  
Gone. All gone in a final agonizing pull of bedroom air into tortured lungs. Breathing urgently, and Buffy was wide awake now, sitting bolt upright on her bed, cool feel of the phantom savior still on her, all around her.  
  
Willow in the doorway again, looking frightened, asking.  
  
"A dream," Buffy insisted. "Just a dream."  
  
She got to her feet abruptly, collecting the weapons she had pulled out from under the bed scant minutes ago. No one was going to get away with trying to destroy her in her sleep. And no one was going to kill Spike, either. Not as long as she was breathing. 


	2. Breathing

Breathing  
  
By Annie  
  
Summary: Breathe, from Spike's POV Rated: R, just in case Disclaimer: Still not mine own. Spoilers: General S7. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
  
  
  
  
It was the shock of the cold water on his face that brought him to some semblance of lucidity. Not that he wasn't normally cold-skinned himself, but the water was really frigid. Stupid bloody wanker the First was, trying to drown a creature who had no need to breathe, ever.  
  
Of course, the purpose behind the chilly dunking soon became abundantly clear, even to Spike's hole-riddled mind.  
  
It was a symbolic thing, intended to impress upon Spike exactly what was happening to Buffy.  
  
She was asleep. Restlessly to be sure, but asleep nonetheless, and Spike could hear it with her mind, knew the First meant for this to be a shared experience. One that could kill Buffy and leave Spike stranded forever, without her.  
  
No, Spike's mind rebelled. She had to stay alive. She had to come and save him. Buffy believed in him, and somewhere in the back of his addled brain he saw that strange girl again, the one who had said, she will tell you. Buffy believed that he was a better man, and no force, earthly or un-, could make him believe she wouldn't come for him.  
  
Little blackness in Buffy's mind, in Spike's mind, cold wetness engulfing him, and the voice whispered smoothly, you can't breathe. Spike felt the grab in his own airless chest as Buffy's breath hitched painfully. He felt the ragged movement of her lungs, trying to obey the most instinctual command in the universe. If the First wanted him connected with Buffy, he'd damn well try to do something about this. He imagined brushing his hand down her arm softly, soothingly. Breathe, his mind voiced silently, and then his head was dragged out of the water and he was thrust roughly aside.  
  
It was a good plan, for the First to pretend to be Drusilla, except for the fact that he didn't love Dru anymore. If he had ever really loved her at all, which, if measured against the level of feeling he had developed for Buffy, he really hadn't. It was too easy to ignore her now, let his mind slip back into the dark murk in which he had existed since he got back to the Hellmouth.  
  
Apparently, Dru was not happy that he could resist her, and he was suddenly immersed in the water again, powerful force keeping him there, showing him what Buffy could feel.  
  
She was holding her breath now, in her sleep, every effort to pull air into her lungs causing her pain both physical and mental. He visualized her face in his mind, used mental fingers to caress her jawline, dip into the hollow of her throat. Easy, just breathe, his mind commanded. Pain in his head, as the First recognized his attempts to thwart this.  
  
He ignored the pain. He could ignore pain well, and had done a lot of that for the last two years or so. He needed Buffy to come for him, and a simple pain in his head couldn't kill him. His mental fingers traced the throbbing artery in her neck, pulsing more quickly with the realization, somewhere inside her, that she wasn't breathing at all.  
  
Can't breathe, Spike's mind heard in hers.  
  
Yes, you can. Breathe. He demanded, ghosting his mind across her collarbone and then heading downward.  
  
No, you can't, little black mind-voice insisted, gripping her psyche tightly, making her chest hitch again, more hurtfully this time, and Spike could feel that, too, could still hear the tiny blackness in her head.  
  
Phantom hands moving even lower, across chest and abdomen, soothing, trying to warm without warmth, trying to chase away the pain, chase away the tiny voice, feeling the push of the force against him to drive him even deeper into the frigid water. Make him feel the coldness of impending death.  
  
Hands across hardening nipples, brush of air across her skin, Breathe  
  
Another squeeze of lungs already screaming for air. You can't breathe.  
  
Painful lash of rebellion from Spike's mind, useless jerk against the arm holding him under, bruising dead skin.  
  
Spike-hands across her lower abdomen, contracting her insides and warming her, reminiscent of other times, actual hands on her. Breathe, Buffy. And Spike could sense that she almost could, sense the growing anger from the little black thing inside both their heads.  
  
Pain roiling up from her airless lungs into her throat, stopping any sound she might have made, any little sound from herself that might have awoken her, making her breathe again.  
  
Dream hands splayed between her legs, shock of unexpectedly cool pleasure, a touch she knew, a voice she knew. He felt her writhe with the touches and the desperate need for her lungs to expand. Spike's lungs were burning with her effort, and he pushed against the blackness in their heads. You can breathe. Breathe for me.  
  
You can't breathe little voice, weakening against the onslaught of the cool touches and airy whispers against her mind and body.  
  
Phantom weight against all of her, covering her, moving against her, shielding her. She can breathe, the words drifting through Spike's mind like some kind of saving mantra.  
  
Can't breathe, fading little voice in their heads, not gone enough.  
  
Moving against her, ghost of lips over her mouth, mind-born not- breath reaching into her, cold water in his face and incredible pain in his head. Still moving, still rebelling, still touching, covering, trembling.  
  
Can't breathe, stop breathing last angry command and then nothing, black voice gone, faded. Still not breathing, and Spike pleaded one more time before he was pulled out of the water and thrown to the floor once more.  
  
Breath. Breathe for me, Slayer. Come for me.  
  
Gasping for her breath as he lay there, not knowing if she breathed or not. If she was alive or not. Tortured twist in his mind and his insides, and he closed his eyes against the thought, against the memory of her death.  
  
Whether she came for him or not, Spike wouldn't give in, didn't care who the First decided to turn into to convince him.  
  
Buffy believed in him. Spike believed she would come. 


	3. Breath of Relief

Breath of Relief  
  
By Annie  
  
Disclaimer: Never been, never will be mine. Spoilers: Showtime Summary: Spike's belief is well-founded. Rated: R Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
  
  
  
  
She  
  
hot prick of pain as the tip of the dagger traces the already-open pattern on his chest  
  
will  
  
flutter of swollen eyelids in frustrated resignation as he feels the trail of the precious blood making its' way down his abdomen to disappear into the already-stained black denim beneath  
  
come  
  
unexpected coil of heat in his groin at the double meaning of the word he had not really meant in THAT context right now  
  
for  
  
blaze of fire on his skin as the razor-sharp steel sketches yet another symbol on the tortured parchment that is his skin  
  
me.  
  
flare of rebellion in his soggy mind, as he starts the mantra over again inside  
  
She will come for me.  
  
Sometime later, chance for that rebellion he has been feeling, as he brings his legs up to powerfully snap the neck of the demon bearing down on him for yet another sketching session. Strong, determined snap of the ropes tying his arms back, and brief, victorious struggle with another demon before he finds himself on his way, out into the cave, and there she is.  
  
She came for me  
  
flowing exultantly through his mind and he searches her face futilely  
  
Just a dream, a fantasy of love born of desperation. He is still captive against the rough stone.  
  
She will come for me.  
  
He blinks, and she is there. He doesn't trust this, doesn't trust anything anymore, can't rely on any of his senses. Just because it looks like it, sounds like it and even smells like it, it isn't Salvation coming for him. Not yet.  
  
It speaks. "Poor Spike. He still thinks I believe in him."  
  
i do  
  
"Be realistic. I don't even believe in myself."  
  
i have enough belief for two  
  
"At least, not enough to risk my skin to save your ass. Not enough to face that." It looks in the direction of the Hell-born thing they had bled him to raise.  
  
He tries again to reach for her mind. He hasn't been able to find her since the end of the drowning incident, but he thinks desperately that with the vision of her right here, right in front of him, maybe he can. The First would not be stupid enough to allow it, he despairs, when he fails once more.  
  
It still speaks to him. "I'm sorry, Spike. You need to accept this."  
  
never  
  
"You know it would never have worked out. It's time to let go."  
  
time to hang on, find his mantra again  
  
his lips are moving of their own accord  
  
"So we can both move on. I promise, soon it will all be." Its' voice drifts off, looking more intently, leaning closer to hear.  
  
"She will come, she will come for me, she will come for me, she will come for me.."  
  
It comes even nearer, impossibly close. "No, I won't"  
  
yes, she will  
  
The mantra goes on and on in his head and on his lips, until he passes out in utter exhaustion.  
  
Someone he doesn't know this time, except as the identity-stealing nightmare who seems to own him now, body and new-born soul.  
  
"Well, alone again," It gloats, and she is back. The not-she. "I just love having you to myself." It approaches with malice in Its' eyes and Spike shuts himself down against the force of the thoughts projected at him, Its' promise of more shattering pain yet to come.  
  
she will come for me  
  
And still later, yet again, and Spike wonders if it's still today, or if it's tomorrow or next week or next year. Another touch of rebellion, born of the anger and fear inside.  
  
He looks at It blearily through his painfully swollen eyes.  
  
It stands there, weapon in hand, most likely looking for an untouched inch of skin to turn into a canvas.  
  
good luck finding one  
  
"A knife now, is it?"  
  
he sounds so much braver than he feels  
  
and now It can suddenly touch weapons - bloody great, that is  
  
she will come  
  
I can endure, because she will come  
  
It stays silent, not mocking this time, just looking gravely.  
  
"Well..well, you can't hurt me."  
  
much more without killing me for good  
  
"You're just a bloody figment, you are. You're just."  
  
moving toward him and if he had breath it would be stopped in his chest in anticipation of the intense pain he knows is coming  
  
arms moving up in front of him, and It silently uses the knife to slice through the leather binding him  
  
steps back, and he looks, and It's looking back at him, into him. not it.  
  
She.  
  
really real she and he holds onto her and just looks and he can see  
  
words she can't force herself to speak, walled up behind her eyes and clearly heard in his mind  
  
I had to come for you.  
  
leaning against her with a half-sob, half-breath of relief and she releases his eyes and takes him, leads him and the mantra in his brain is laid to rest  
  
She came for me. 


	4. Breathing in Sync

Chapter 4  
  
Breathing In Sync Feedback loved. crehnert@ptd.net  
  
This is rated NC-17. If you want to read it, it can be found at  
  
http://home.earthlink.net/~mlb13/breathe4.htm  
  
thanks Annie 


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